


Dogs Don't Talk, Do They?

by Hrunting_License



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Nargothrond, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:22:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28629492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hrunting_License/pseuds/Hrunting_License
Summary: The gossips of Nargothrond call Celegorm "The Smith's Attack Dog." They're not wrong, but they aren't exactly right, either.
Relationships: Celegorm | Turcafinwë/Curufin | Curufinwë
Comments: 10
Kudos: 42





	1. Chapter 1

The voices dripped in through the halls of Nargothrond. The acoustics were strange and foreign, and sometimes a word whispered in one room might sound shouted in another, the caves making words twist and echo in unpredictable ways.

That was how Celegorm first heard himself referred to as “The Smith’s attack dog.”

“Haven’t you seen the way they are together? Say a cruel word against the little brother, and the elder goes for your throat.”

“My cousin lived in Himlad, she said it’s ever been thus. He’s little more than a beast, they say, and less civilized than the hound he’s bonded to.”

“Bonded to? Or _bonded_ to?”

Laughter, cruel and bright.

“I would hardly think it _impossible_. He often sleeps in the woods, they say, and returns covered in dirt and leaves and stains.”

“How do you think his brother stands the _smell_?”

“He’s used to it, of course.”

“Poor Lord Celebrimbor, no wonder he wants little to do with that pair.”

“My grandfather had to bring a clock to Lord Curufin for a new gear, he said Lord Celegorm was just sitting on the floor at the hearth the whole time, his eyes glowing in the dark, watching.”

“I told you. He’s the attack dog.”

“It’s frightening, isn’t it? To think, at one point someone like that was just a single slit throat away from the High Kingship.”

“Thank the Valar for High King Fingon and his bravery, that we never had to endure such a terror!”

That was enough to take Celegorm from amused to growling in annoyance. He stalked down to the forges, deliberately shouldering aside any who stood in his way--he could never tell which of them had been speaking, after all--until he reached the one where his brother labored. Crystalline lamps illuminated the space with soft white light, far brighter than the fires burning, and Celegorm began by muttering, “It’s never dark in here. How would you see if it were?”

Curufin did not look up at his entrance, nor at his pronouncement, only drawing his billet carefully as he hammered. He wore no shirt under his tunic and apron, his arms glistening with sweat under the soot that streaked his lean arms. He had never put on muscle the way Celegorm and Celebrimbor had, no matter how powerfully he wielded the hammer. Celegorm attributed that to poor choice in diet. “Is it?” he demanded, not wanting to be angry alone when there was great satisfaction in sharing his displeasure.

Curufin brought the hammer down again, then dragged his forearm across his forehead, wiping off sweat but leaving a trail of soot. “Is what what?”

“Is it ever dark enough to see my eyes glow in here?”

“I don’t pay that much attention to you.”

“Liar.”

Curufin was too close to the forge for Celegorm to tell if heat crept into his cheeks or not. He’d never blushed like Caranthir, which had always made him infinitely less fun to tease. He threw himself down onto the furs in front of the fire, and without him having to beckon, Huan came to his side, taking up a position at his feet. Unrepentantly, Celegorm rubbed his cold toes on the dog, who opened one eye, then shut it again. “You’re the dog,” he informed Huan.

Huan just huffed at him.

“Are you arguing with your dog about who’s the dog?”

“Listen.”

“What?”

“I--he’s the dog! Look at him! Got fur, big teeth, goes on four legs.”

Huan, as if to spite him, immediately rolled over onto his back, presenting his belly, which Celegorm reluctantly rubbed.

“I’m just saying,” Curufin drawled, “that most Noldor don’t feel the need to argue that they _aren’t_ dogs. For most of us, it’s obvious.”

“The rumor is that I’m _your_ dog.”

He wasn’t sure why he said it.

And suddenly, he realized it was _not_ too hot by the forge, because Curufin’s cheeks _were_ flushing red, and he could see it just fine.

A low, strange heat flared in his belly.

It had been a _long_ time.

They had been very young, it seemed.

It had been hundreds of years.

For the most part, he never thought of it. Curvo was his little brother--a pain, self-righteous, cruel sometimes, quick-tempered, and hot-blooded like most of his brothers. That was all.

But sometimes, someone would say something, and heat would flare in him again, like a fire long-banked that he’d thought extinguished, when an ember was casually poked and flared red inside.

“Don’t blush like that,” he said, stretching out on the furs, resting a hand casually on Huan’s head as if to keep himself grounded. If he was a prick about it, Curufin would snap at him, and everything would go back to normal again. “You know it makes me hard.”

Curufin grabbed a set of pliers and, predictably, chucked them at his face. Celegorm ducked, expecting the violence, and they hit the hearth grate with a clatter. “ _Touchy_ ,” he muttered, and yawned, as if unaffected, as if he’d never felt something dark and hot flare up inside him after decades of sleep. “You’re cunty tonight. I’m going to go bother Celebrimbor, where is he?”

“Don’t!”

The tone, a harsh, biting snap, almost _fearful_ , made Celegorm freeze, his blood pounding as if looking for the threat that must have made Curufin talk like that. He looked around, but everything was the same, except Huan’s hackles were up, his eyes wide in the crystalline light of the forge. “What?” Celegorm barked, and jumped to his feet, rounding on his brother.

“Don’t.” The word was calmer, but Curufin was obviously shaken, and wouldn’t meet his eyes. “You can’t. Not with Tyelpë.”

It had been long enough that the words didn’t make sense for several seconds. Or maybe Celegorm was just stupid, compared to his crafty brother, whose mind worked too-quick on some things, and would never begin to pick at others. “What?” he asked again, baffled. “What are you accusing me of, exactly?”

Curufin was bent over his anvil, his knuckles white on the edges. His eyes were cast down, but Celegorm could feel the intensity that burned within them, and was suddenly, strikingly reminded of their father.

“What?” he demanded again, and stalked towards the anvil, grabbing Curufin’s shoulder. His skin was hot to the touch from proximity to the forge, and Celegorm had to steel himself not to lean closer to that heat.

Curufin did look up, then. His dark grey eyes blazed, and he shoved Celegorm in the chest, hard. “You think I’m going to let you run around with my son? The way...”

Celegorm felt his eyes widen, and he shoved back, grabbing Curufin by the front of his apron, hauling him close. “Little brother,” he said, his voice a low growl, “you almost sound like you’re afraid I’m going to _hurt_ him. Did I ever hurt you?”

“You pushed me off my horse--“

“That was _my_ horse, you stole it!”

“You kicked my tooth out--“

“You broke my arm--“

“You cut my braid off--“

“You shot me!”

“You--“

Celegorm yanked him close, the reckless madness of that long-ago time taking him again, and silenced Curufin with his mouth. Curufin held himself tense and unyielding for a long, bitter moment, and Celegorm thought he was about to get a hammer to his skull.

Then, all at once, Curufin relented, going pliant and hungry in his arms.

Just as he ever had.

Celegorm felt a smug sense of satisfaction, coupled with a fierce, unfurling heat in his chest that made him grab, made him hungry in a way he had not been since he’d run with Oromë and sometimes eaten his prey raw, caught with his bare hands. He bit at Curufin’s lip, heard him hiss, tasted blood. “Slut,” he breathed against his lips, and felt his brother shiver.

“Ass,” Curufin grunted back at him, and started groping at his chest. “You’re such--you’re _the worst_ , you know--“

“Aye, and you like that.” It was easy to fall back into the old teasing. He’d been so frantic to distract Curufin back then, so determined to keep him from looking away, even for a moment. “Don’t you? Admit it, you’ve--ahh, your hands are so strong, do that again--you’ve _missed_ this, little brother.”

“Stop _calling_ me that!”

“Fine.” Celegorm yanked at the heavy leather apron, tossing it to the side, unrepentantly grabbing at Curufin’s ass and squeezing. He bent close, running the tip of his tongue up the shell of his ear, up through the point, and felt Curufin buckle into his arms. “You want to be my Curvo again?”

“You...” Curufin swayed on his feet for a moment, then shifted close, shamelessly arching against him, rubbing his growing erection against Celegorm’s thigh. “You can’t do this with Tyelpë, Tyelko.”

Celegorm blinked down at him. “Why would I?”

“What, are you saying he’s not handsome enough for you?” Curufin challenged, trying to sound as if he weren’t currently on the verge of humping against his elder brother’s leg.

“No. I’m saying he isn’t you.”

Another flush, this one darker, and Curufin thudded a fist against his shoulder again, hard enough to bruise. “Don’t talk like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you care so much about this.”

Celegorm nipped at his sensitive ear, and stuffed his hand down the front of Curufin’s breeches, cupping and squeezing the hard length he found there, hearing his brother let out a soft curse against his shoulder. “I would have never stopped,” he murmured, because it was a day for being stupid, apparently. “I would have taken you every night in Himlad, if you hadn’t started locking your door. Don’t talk to _me_ like you’ve been lusting after me for ages.”

“It wasn’t...” Curufin looked best like this, kiss-dazed and arousal-reddened, his hips twitching helplessly up into Celegorm’s hand. “People were starting to talk. It wouldn’t have been good for Tyelpë.”

“I was _comforting_ you,” Celegorm growled, and swiped his thumb over the head of Curufin’s cock, making him jerk under the touch. “Who would _deny_ the Lords of Himlad their comfort, when you’d just lost--“

“Don’t.”

Curufin jerked, less from arousal, and Celegorm took the hint. Right. They were _not_ going to speak of Halindë, or the year after her death, when sweet Celebrimbor had come to his uncle in tears, terrified that his father would fade.

Celegorm rather doubted that Celebrimbor had any idea what form his intercession had taken, nor ever would. It didn’t matter. “What about now, then?” he murmured, and stole his hand down further, cupping Curufin’s balls, stroking and rolling and making him squirm. “What if I were to come to your room tonight? Would I find the door locked against me?”

Curufin bared his teeth, his hands balling into fists at Celegorm’s chest. “We are _guests_ in Nargothrond,” he breathed, eyes dark as he looked up. “And you say there are already rumors.”

“Of course there are. Let the unworthy crow in the dooryards, while the Sons of Fëanor carve out history.” Celegorm stole another hard kiss, tasting the honeyed almonds Curufin liked to eat while he worked. “Let them call me your dog. I’ll rip out their throats, and sleep at the foot of your bed.”

“If...” Curufin mustered himself, and gave Celegorm a glare. “If you’re just planning to sleep at the foot of my bed, I’m _going_ to lock the door.”

Celegorm gave him a grin, and knew it was a feral, fey expression. “You’ll just have to find out. Come, Huan.”

He freed his hand, ignoring Curufin’s angry hissing sound, or his attempts to grab at Celegorm’s arm to pull him back where he wanted that touch. Huan butted against his leg affectionately, which must mean that his behavior wasn’t _too_ heinous. Huan was usually pretty quick to let him known when he was being especially terrible.


	2. Chapter 2

The door was unlocked.

Celegorm grinned.

Just as he pushed it open, a sound came to him, echoing through the hallway. His sharp ears picked out a familiar cadence, and shut the door immediately, knowing he wouldn’t have time to get through the door before Celebrimbor came around the corner. “Nephew,” he said cordially, as soon as Celebrimbor came into view. “You’re about late this eventide.”

Celebrimbor started when their eyes met, then looked quickly away. “As are you, Uncle,” he responded, and made to stride past.

“Not visiting your father?” Celegorm wasn’t entirely certain why he felt the need to poke at his nephew a little bit. Perhaps it was the way he’d taken to braiding his hair in that damnably Telerin way that had spread through the cave city recently, as if proclaiming his distance from his father and uncles in even that. That, and the cut of his cloth, and the jewelry he wore, and the way he spoke now only in fluid, accentless Sindarin. “Where else could you be off to at this time of night?”

Celebrimbor drew himself up, and gave him a cool, even look. “His Majesty has--“

“He isn’t High King,” Celegorm interrupted. “You don’t have to call our Vanyarin cousin _his majesty_ as though he’s anything other than a son of mightier fathers. If not mothers.”

“Your _cousin_ ,” Celebrimbor said, through clenched teeth, “has graciously welcomed us into his city. Perhaps you should remember that with gratitude.”

“I’ll remember that when _you_ remember who spoke for you with the hunt-smiths,” Celegorm said, and his smile widened. “Or do you want to go back to hearing the jeers at your family every time you worked in the public forges?”

“Perhaps _you_ should remember who invited you into the city in the first place, and who could ask for your removal,” Celebrimbor said, and even if his voice was even and gentle, his hand was clenched at his side. “Good night, Uncle.”

Celegorm scowled until his nephew was around the corner, then reached back for the door’s latch.

Now, it was locked.

“Curvo,” he growled. “I know you can hear me. Open the door.”

The only sound was a pronounced, obviously fake snore.

“I’m _going_ to break down your door.”

After there was no response but more snoring, Celegorm ground his teeth together. Damn Curufin for being a frigid bitch when it suited him. “Hope you enjoy fixing the latch,” he warned, and drew back his foot, driving it into the metallic contraption.

“...Fucking _shit, ow!_ ” he snarled, when the latch did not give in the slightest, and his foot twisted at the impact. “Curvo! What the fuck is your door made out of? _Fuck this_!” Enraged, he slammed his foot on the door instead, over and over, a loud series of thuds echoing down the hallways.

On the sixth blow, the door opened, and he went tumbling inside with nowhere for the force to redirect. He hit the floor in a sprawl, his chin banging off of a lamp, and rolled up to his feet into a fighter’s crouch. “What the--“

“Are you determined to wake up everyone in Nargothrond?” Curufin demanded, shutting the door and rounding on him, dark eyes blazing. He was wearing nothing but a nightshirt, arms folded over his chest. “Are you drunk?”

“No!” Celegorm glared at him, feeling thrown off and annoyed by it.

“Why were you throwing yourself against my door?”

“Because it was locked!”

“Which a reasonable person might think meant I didn’t want company!”

“You did earlier!”

“Before I heard you talking like an ass to my son!”

Celegorm scowled. “I thought you wanted to fuck tonight.”

“I _told you_ , I don’t want the rumors to follow us here! If someone _sees you_ in front of my door, you _leave_.”

“But I don’t want to.”

Curufin dragged a hand down his face. “You are the worst. You’re going to get us thrown out of Nargothrond.”

“No, your bitchy attitude is going to,” Celegorm countered. “Which you wouldn’t have, if you let me get that stick out of your ass sometimes.”

“ _Tyelko_ ,” Curufin hissed, and the sound went right to Celegorm’s cock, no matter how angry he sounded.

He advanced in a single motion, moving like the predator he was. Curufin brought up his hands, and Celegorm grabbed his wrists, knocking him down to the bed in a single, powerful strike. “You are such a frigid bitch,” he snarled, and wrenched Curufin’s wrists above his head, grunting when Curufin kicked him in the thigh. “Stop it. I’ll fucking tie you up.”

“Tyelko,” Curufin groaned, and twisted under him. “You’re--aren’t you supposed to be my dog?”

Celegorm’s cock jumped in his breeches. “Aye,” he breathed, and climbed properly on top of his brother, holding his wrists with one hand, reaching the other down to brush dark hair away from his face. “So maybe I’ll mount you like you’re my bitch.”

A shudder went through Curufin’s body, and he bared his teeth, for once looking like he had when they’d ridden out together in Oromë’s train, back in Aman. “I should throw you out on your ass.”

“And instead, you’re going to give me yours.”

Curufin struggled against him for a moment, but Celegorm held him fast. Curufin was strong. Celegorm was stronger. “If I let go, you’re going to turn over,” he said, his eyes glittering. “You want me to be your dog, I’ll be your dog. But you’re the one who’s going to be howling.”

Curufin stared up at him for a moment, then bit his lip, squeezing his eyes closed, and went limp. “I want you to do that thing.”

“Are you going to stop fighting me like you don’t want this?”

Curufin nodded, the heat back in his cheeks, like it had been in the forge earlier. He shifted, and slowly raised one leg, knee crooked, getting Celegorm to kneel between his thighs. “I--fine. Just...give me what I want.”

“Ask for it.”

“I want...”

Once upon a time, Celegorm would have held him down, teased him, refused to give him anything until he dirtied his mouth with the words. But he was impatient now, and Curufin was _finally_ relenting. “I know what you want. Turn over and I’ll give it to you.”

He released Curufin’s wrists, and was rewarded immediately when he turned over, tugging his nightshirt up to pool around his armpits. He was bare below, and Celegorm kissed his way down that familiar spine, feeling Curufin tense beneath him. “How long since you felt someone’s touch?” he murmured, feeling his brother tremble. “Since the last time I had you?”

“...No.”

A jealous fury shot through Celegorm, and his hands tightened, gripping Curufin’s hips. “Who?”

“What do you care? You aren’t my wife.”

“Tell me.”

“No.”

“Tell me, or you don’t get my tongue in your ass.”

Curufin twitched under him, his back arching, pushing back at the words. “Come on, Tyelko. I...I got ready.”

The last words were mumbled into his forearms, but they sent a jolt of arousal through Celegorm nonetheless, and his jealousy faded into the background. “Slut,” he accused again, and gripped Curufin’s buttocks, dragging them apart as his tongue flicked over his tight hole, finding it so deliberately clean and slick that it could not have been an accident. The thought of Curufin in the baths with his sweet oils, his fingers buried inside himself, thinking of Celegorm’s cock rutting into him later, was enough to make him lick in deep.

Curufin’s sudden gasp was his only warning as he shoved back hard, making Celegorm grip him harder. “Stop it,” he growled. “You’re going to break my nose.”

“Sorry,” Curufin muttered, and gripped at the bedsheets, shifting his knees farther apart. “Nnh, Tyelko, give me your mouth, I need it.”

“Demanding,” Celegorm informed him, and dove back in, letting his tongue delve deep inside. He sucked and nibbled and licked, hearing Curufin curse and whine, feeling his thighs tremble.

“Fuck, yes--you have the filthiest fucking mouth,” Curufin whimpered, his toes curling into the mattress. “Lick me, you bastard, just like that.”

Celegorm’s fingers sank into his thighs, one of his hands creeping up, stroking Curufin’s toned inner thighs, brushing his knuckles over his balls. Curufin had always been wild for his tongue, more so after his wife’s death. Celegorm had a feeling, even if he’d never asked, that his late wife had performed the task with almost as much gusto as Celegorm had.

“ _Tyelko_ ,” Curufin gasped, and his back arched, hips jerking as he tried not to simply rut back, his hole twitching and clenching around Celegorm’s tongue. “That’s it--just like that--fuck, _good dog_.”

Celegorm let out a low, eager growl against Curufin’s hole, and felt Curufin squirm, tense, then shudder, spilling all over the bed. Celegorm kept licking, swirling his tongue around, hearing the groans turn to breathy, hitching little groans and curses. “Tyelko... _Tyelko_ , stop, it’s too m-much--“

“Liar. You aren’t even close to satisfied.”

Curufin shivered beneath him, and one of his knees slipped from beneath him, making him sag down against the bed. Celegorm’s eyes raked over him, taking in the lean muscles twitching, the soft sheen of sweat, the heaving chest. “Are you being tempting on purpose?” he demanded. “Look at you, it’s like you want me to fuck you until you faint.”

Curufin shot a blotchy, baleful glare over his shoulder, through the dark fall of his hair. “You’re just horny,” he accused.

“...Fair enough.”

It didn’t matter. Curufin _was_ tempting, all dark eyes and slender limbs and twitching wet hole. Celegorm hitched up his hips, folding Curufin nearly in half, and shoved in without any further warning, making his brother curse and hiss, kicking back at him.

“Tyelko-- _fucker_ ,” he hissed, eyes bulging as he squirmed, tears prickling at his eyes. “I _hate_ you--“

“You like it better like this,” Celegorm accused breathlessly, and yanked back on his hips, pulling him down hard. “This way--you can pretend you don’t want it.”

Curufin groaned, and bit down on the blankets, not denying it. Celegorm could see his eyes squeezed shut, even as he shoved back onto each thrust, his hips working in hungry, needy little circles.

“Then again,” Celegorm panted, his chest sliding against Curufin’s back, his cock working deeper inside with each rough thrust, “no one who saw you--would ever believe--that you didn’t want this. Look at you. What a fucking slut, spread wide for your big brother’s cock.”

“ _Don’t_ \--“

“Embarrassed now? Who were you pretending I was back here?”

Curufin moaned weakly, and reached down to fondle his own re-hardening length. “Shut up. Just fuck me.”

Celegorm yanked him back hard, jerking his hips forward. “You’re so tight for me. Can’t believe you turned me down for this long when you’re this hard up for it.”

“Shut-- _up_ \--“

“Why, so you can pretend I’m just some Sindarin _nér_ you met in the caverns?”

“Just--nnh, dogs don’t talk, do they?”

In retaliation, Celegorm bit his shoulder, _hard_. He heard Curufin shout, and shoved a pair of fingers into his mouth. “Quiet,” he breathed against Curufin’s ear, and bit that, too. “Don’t want to start _rumors_ , do we? Rumors about the Fëanorian princes who take a little _too_ much pleasure in each other’s company?”

There _had_ been rumors. Celegorm had heard them as surely as Curufin had, whispers that they lingered too often in each others’ presence, that they were never apart, that Curufin had been too long without a wife and Celegorm had never been _quite right_ anyway.

They knew nothing. They knew nothing of how far the sons of Fëanor were above them, or what they owed each other, or how closely they were bound. Even their brothers had no idea how deep their devotion ran.

“You made me wait too long,” he growled, and twisted his fingers against Curufin’s tongue, then pulled them out, fetching a sharp slap against his ass. “You’re--supposed to be available--whenever I need this ass.”

“I’m not your fucking whore--“

“No. You’re my fucking bitch.”

“ _Tyelko_ \--“

“Listen to you whine. Are you in heat, little brother?”

“Stop--stop calling me that--“

Celegorm rolled his hips, and watched as Curufin’s eyes rolled back into his head, his tongue hanging out as he ground desperately back, looking for more cock. Celegorm felt heat surge through him, his balls drawn up tight as he slammed in against that spot inside Curufin that made him writhe helplessly.

“Curvo,” he whispered, and felt Curufin finally melt beneath him, giving in to the wild hunger that took both of them, sometimes, that Curufin always pretended he didn’t feel.

“There you are,” Celegorm breathed, and reached around, gripping his brother’s cock with practiced ease, stroking swiftly. “I want to fuck you until morning.”

Curufin nodded, his eyes hazy with lust. “Fuck me,” he moaned, hands fisting in the bedsheets as he shoved back, again and again, little sharp gasps falling from his lips. “It’s the only thing you’re _good for_ \--“

With a last low growl, Celegorm emptied himself deep inside Curufin’s body, coming in long hot pulses with a bestial groan, spilling until his vision went white at the edges. He heard Curufin curse, felt a weak little blow as Curufin kicked at him, and pulled out, sated.

“Bastard,” Curufin was groaning, shoving his twitching, empty ass backwards. “What happened to ‘until morning?’ Put it back in, I’m so close--“

Unrepentantly, Celegorm shoved three fingers into his hot wet hole, making Curufin gasp, making both of them moan. He shoved back once, twice, and then he was spilling into his own hand, as Celegorm rubbed deliberately over his prostate with each thrust of his fingers, not stopping until Curufin slapped at his hand.

“...We’ll get better at the timing again,” Celegorm assured him with a yawn, stretching out. “For a while, I had you spilling every time I came in you, that was fun.”

Curufin flopped over, resting his head on Celegorm’s chest. “I didn’t say I wanted to start doing it again on a regular basis.”

“Don’t you?” When Curufin didn’t respond, Celegorm elbowed him in the ribs, gently. “You missed it. I missed it. What’s the harm? We’re already consigned to the Void, the Valar can hardly hate us any more than they already do.” There was a single bleak note in his tone. Most of the Valar could fuck themselves sideways, as far as he cared.

 _Most_ of them.

Curufin pinched his nipple.

“Hey!”

“Don’t think of Lord Oromë in my bed.”

Celegorm scowled. “Who have you let fuck you?”

“No one.”

“But you said--“

“I tumbled a couple of _néri_ apprentices from the forges,” Curufin admitted, sleepy with his two orgasms. “Back in Himlad. Just to see.”

“To see what?”

Curufin was silent for a moment. Then, hesitantly, “To see if it was you, or if it was just anyone.”

He didn’t volunteer his conclusion. Celegorm didn’t ask. If screwing his little apprentices that worshipped his skill had alleviated his lusts, he wouldn’t be here now, spreading his legs for his brother once more. And even if it had, what matter? They were probably dead in the Bragollach.

That thought cheered him, and he let his eyes shut. “All right. I forgive you.”

“I wasn’t asking your forgiveness!”

“I know. I’m very generous that way.”

Curufin kneed him in the belly, hard, until he coughed and choked. “Get down to the foot of my bed, dog,” he ordered, with a shine in his eye.

Celegorm grinned, and showed very, very sharp teeth. “Make me, little brother.”

**Author's Note:**

> [I'm on Tumblr for requests!](https://hrunting-license.tumblr.com/)


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